


where wildflowers grow

by carafin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Girls Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4030399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carafin/pseuds/carafin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mai Nametsu, and a one-way road. Written for Datekou Week day 7.</p><blockquote>
  <p><i>You don’t know me at all</i>, she thinks but doesn’t say.</p>
  <p>(Other things her father will probably never know, or understand: stupid boys with hearts as big as mountains, the unshakeable promise of togetherness, the feeling of being part of something unfathomably big when you’ve spent the past fifteen years engineering your life to be very, very small.)</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	where wildflowers grow

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for hq datekou week but im not very sure where this is supposed to go tbh, so i guess this belongs to free space under day 7?? ~~although to be really really honest i wrote this with iron wall in mind, but im not sure if i actually managed to convey the theme~~
> 
> also, this is actually just an extrapolation of a prompt of mine isy filled over at her ask.fm. you can check it (and other awesome stuff) out [here](http://ask.fm/ennofuta/answer/127874669694).
> 
> on the off chance you clicked this without knowing what you're getting yourself into, mai nametsu is datekou's manager. check her out [here](http://tsukishimacest.tumblr.com/post/113985574828/haikyuu-volume-15-character-profiles-volume).
> 
> now with beautiful, beautiful [art](http://merjolras.tumblr.com/post/136215186151/nametsu-mai-for-carafinn-from-her-beautiful) by mandy!

Dinner tonight is a sombre affair, even more so than usual. No words are exchanged, but being the only child in a traditional and conservative household has always been an exercise in grasping at subtexts and reading between the lines. Other children were taught to speak their minds; Mai grew up learning the significance of each averted gaze, the weight of each well-timed pause. She knows that there is silent reproach in the way her father—sitting across the table—chooses to avoid her glances throughout the meal, and how he gazes right past her when he finally tilts his head up, grunting in response to her quiet _itadakimasu_. Next to him, Mai’s mother is sitting ramrod straight, her thin lips pressed into a single forbidding line, a silent mirror of her husband as always.

It takes them all of twenty-two minutes—Mai is counting—but the excruciating meal eventually comes to an end, and dessert is served. It’s almost a relief when her father finally turns to look at her in the eye, a plate of chilled pears placed in front of him, untouched. For a moment there is only the hissing sound of water gushing out of the tap in the kitchen, where Mai’s mother is washing the dishes. 

Her father clears his throat, and starts to speak.

‘I was told you skipped your violin lesson this morning,’ her father begins gravely, his tone at once quiet and accusing.

‘I’m sorry, I can explain,’ Mai begins, but her sentence is cut off by a dismissive wave of her father’s hands.

‘We spent so much money trying to hire Imai-sensei for you, and yet you chose to expend your time and energy on… _that team_ of yours instead.’

On any other day Mai would’ve dipped her head in silent acquiescence, or murmured a quarter-hearted apology. But the way her father ended his sentence with the corners of his lips curling into a half-sneer, the way he narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his nose at the mention of ‘ _that team_ ’ as if he were bringing up something foul and distasteful, does not escape her. In an instant, the queasy lump of dread in her chest twists into something sharper, something darker.

‘I didn’t skip my lesson,’ Mai says with deliberate slowness, knowing that the causticity seeping quietly into her words may very well be an all-out declaration of rebellion in her household; the thought leaves her strangely satisfied. ‘I cancelled my class altogether.’

This time, her father actually drops his staid countenance, and blinks in surprise, as if he’s unable to register what just transpired—Mai doesn’t blame him for that, because defiance has always been a foreign language in his book. What her father doesn’t know is that her silence does not always equate to acquiescence, that words carry even more weight when they are unsaid, swallowed back down her throat like bitter pills, and that fingers curled up tightly into fists, shoved deep into pockets, can also be a language. _You only have to give it voice_ , something tells her at the back of her mind.

‘The club needs me during their Saturday practices’, Mai continues. Now that the initial rebellious streak has died down and made way for something between mild panic and a quieter sort of resolve, she feels her voice trembling a little, but she continues anyway. ‘And I can always pick up where I’ve left off once the competition season is over.’

‘Stop this foolishness,’ her father barks, the sudden outburst so abrupt that Mai hears something slip and crash loudly into the kitchen sink. ‘What can you do for them besides thankless tasks like fetching water and making ugly posters? You’re better off spending your time doing things that will help your future. You’re going to apologise to Imai-sensai and then return to lessons—’

‘I don’t think I can do that,’ Mai says through half-clenched teeth. _It’s too late to back down now_ , she tells herself. ‘Everyone’s working very hard for the team, and I should too.’

Her father looks at her speechlessly. A single vein has snaked down the side of his forehead, near his temple, and if Mai weren’t so furious she might feel guilty about it. In a swift motion, Mai uncrosses her leg and stands up, smoothing the creases of her skirt with her palms. ‘I think I’ll have an early night today. Goodnight.’

‘You...’ her father turns and watches her leave, before grimacing and shutting his eyes, as if the very sight of her now pains him greatly. When he opens them again his face has returned to its usual impassiveness.

‘You’re going to regret this,’ he says to her back as she retreats into her room, the vindictiveness in his voice almost making Mai flinch. ‘You don’t know what’s good for you now, but you’re going to regret this later.’

For all her defiance, Mai is still polite, and so she doesn’t laugh aloud at her father’s words. _You don’t know me at all_ , she thinks but doesn’t say.

(Other things her father will probably never know, or understand: stupid boys with hearts as big as mountains, the unshakeable promise of togetherness, the feeling of being part of something unfathomably big when you’ve spent the past fifteen years engineering your life to be very, very small.)

‘If you keep this up… you’re no daughter of mine,’ her father continues, viciously.

Mai thinks about Moniwa, unsure and uncertain and yet almost always kind, how he’d stepped up to captaincy even if the prospect had probably terrified him senseless. Mai thinks about Obara, strange and awkward but always a pillar of unyielding support for the team. She thinks about Sakunami, about a tentative sort of bravery and surprising resolve compacted into all of one hundred and sixty four centimetres. And from the same place of silent strength, Mai blinks back the hotness in her eyes, and wills her voice not to shake.

‘I’m sorry, father. Goodnight,’ she says, quietly, and closes the door gently behind her.   

**Author's Note:**

> the wonderful thing about writing for characters so obscure they only get one line in the manga is that you can never go wrong with characterisation, it's great fun and you should try it too (((please write about mai nametsu)))


End file.
